


Not Gay

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accents, Fluff, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Purgatory, benny sees through your lies dean, benny's accent deserves a fandom all to itself, mild internal homophobia, this is a harmless and happy fic shhhhhh everythings fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:06:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes to terms with things, and Benny was already there all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Gay

The endless woods were shrouded in a damp mist that had pink blemishes seeping into their skin from clothes that had old bloodstains on them. Dean wondered if they would find anything else except woods. Maybe the trees went on forever- or, maybe, if they kept walking, they would find a desert. Or a sea.

Was there a whole different world down here? Were there houses? Cities?

His hands grasped the haphazard weapon in search of purpose, in search of a violence and a hunger he understood, when one of Benny’s hands gently found the nape of his neck. His roughened palm, his calloused fingers, sent actual shivers down Dean’s spine.

“I’m not gay.” Dean muttered pointlessly.

Benny, leaning against the tree, smiled with an almost drowsy laziness. A laugh rumbled in his throat, the sound so familiar now that Dean’s shoulders slumped a little, relaxing.

“You sure ‘bout that, brother?”

“…No.”

“Don’t dwell on it.” The vowels were long, deep, and suddenly Dean found himself reconsidering how much he loved the term ‘southern comfort’. “You think too much, it all gets… confusing.”

“What happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory, right?” Dean grinned sheepishly towards the dusty ground, sticking the edge of the ragged black, bloodstained, hideously primitive weapon into the ground. Like a boy with a stick.

Benny’s hand slid from his neck, trailing down his back, between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah.”

Dean shrugged the wandering hand off his back, uncomfortable with the distracted edge to Benny’s drawl. He turned and fixed a narrowed glare on Benny- only to scowl when he was met with a wide, innocent blue stare. A different kind of innocence to the sort he used to see in Cas’ eyes. A different blue.

A brighter one.

“What, brother?” Benny’s mouth barely moved when he spoke. Words poured from his lips with ease, as if he were sleeping; vowels and consonants tangled, tumbling from his dusty smirk like air.

“Don’t make that face.” Dean glared, and shoved his shoulder- but Benny caught his hand, fingers clasping around his wrist and yanking him forward.

Dean glowered when he found his face centimetres from Benny’s.

The vampire- and, damn, something was really fucking wrong if a hunter wasn’t at all fazed by those two words- smiled.

Dean brought the weapon’s crusty blade up to Benny’s neck, resting it against unshaved stubble. Benny’s head tipped back a little, but his eyes didn’t move. Dean’s eyes flickered to the edge of the weapon, how the barest pressure pulled at the skin on Benny’s neck. Would Benny bleed, if Dean pressed a little harder? If Dean shifted his weight, got his knees under him, and _pushed_ though that spine, that flesh?

“Gonna stab me, brother?” Benny’s smile was fixed, teeth thankfully still human, his eyes sparkling at the challenge. His hand shifted around Dean’s wrist, tightening.

Dean felt a spark.

“Wouldn’t do very well to kill my only ally now, would it?”

Fuck. This really was between heaven and hell…

Benny’s smirk grew wider, hungrier, pupils blown. And it was only a supreme trust in the steadiness of his hand and his competence with weapons that allowed him to hold the blade still, against Benny’s throat, as he slowly moved upwards above the vampire, until he was stooped above him.

Benny’s fingers loosened, and Dean pulled his hand free- only to let his fingers wander onto the stupid sailor hat, toying with the battered fabric. He’d seen a hat like that before, but Bobby was dead now… technically, Dean supposed, he was too, but that was nothing new. Funny; he could die, but he was so insulted if anyone else dared to.

Dean lifted the hat off Benny’s head and let it fall to the ground.

“Brother…?”

It wasn’t a statement technically, because Dean’s lips were closed, but when fingers clenched in the short thick hair above the back of Benny’s neck, the air grew still.

Dean stared.

At first, he had hated Benny’s gaze because all he saw was Castiel’s innocent, soul-piercing blue, and all the baggage that came with that colour and that name. But now he knew he could never mistake Benny Lafitte for anyone. Benny was no angel. He was no vampire either, or Dean would’ve been dead ages ago–but he certainly wasn’t a human. Not completely.

Which made him closer to Dean than Cas ever could have been.

Those blue eyes, _Benny’s_ blue eyes, met Dean’s unmoving gaze. He licked his lips, and it occurred to Dean that, after all this time, he hadn’t kissed Benny yet. What would a vampire taste like? Would he taste like a human? Probably not.

Dean resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose when he realised _exactly_ what Benny would taste like.

“Dean. If you’re thinkin’ ‘bout killin’ me-”

Benny began to speak- what he was going to say was silenced as Dean leaned down, blade still against skin, to kiss.

He was right. Benny did taste like blood. Old blood. He was surprised to realise he wasn’t utterly repelled by the taste; it tasted like Purgatory. It tasted like dead bodies and midnight massacres, old clothes and the exquisite _purity_ of it all. Dean’s fingers pulled at Benny’s hair, his mouth beginning to work against the other man’s, jaw moving slowly. His eyes closed. Benny would keep his eyes open. He always did. Vampires didn’t sleep, and they certainly didn’t stop paying attention when there was a blade against their lovely throat.

One of Benny’s hands rose, fingers gently pushing the sharp edge away from his windpipe. The stolen weapon fell from Dean’s hands, and then he was being encircled by arms as Benny stood, crushing him into a warm hug.

“Not gay?” Benny formed the words from a breath of air, laughter forming in gasps.

Dean lowered his head onto Benny’s shoulder. A hand landed on his back, Benny’s laughter vibrating against his chest.

“Nope.”

Dean Winchester was no longer worthy of Earth.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anyway.


End file.
